Women and Children First: Bravery, love and fate: the untold story of the doomed Titanic. Gill Paul

He blushed.

      ‘Well, go and mind your own beeswax.’

      Reg made his way down to C Deck, but the stewards appeared to have roused everyone there as well. There was nothing for him to do. Suddenly, too late to duck out of the way, he saw the Howsons coming towards him. She was bundled up in a pale mink coat and matching hat, and Reg couldn’t help but think her outfit seemed too glamorous for climbing into a ship’s lifeboat in the middle of the night. But then, come to think of it, most of the other first-class women were dressing up in their furs and fancy clothes. It was yet another opportunity for a fashion show.

      ‘Reg, isn’t this all a bore?’ Mrs Howson asked. ‘I was sleeping like a baby when we were awoken. Do we really have to go up on deck?’

      ‘I’m afraid so, ma’am. Captain’s orders.’

      ‘How long will it take?’

      ‘I couldn’t say.’

      ‘Well, I think it’s outrageous, and I plan to complain to the captain personally.’

      ‘Don’t be an idiot, Vera,’ her husband admonished. ‘Let’s go.’ He grabbed her arm, prompting a sharp and most unladylike response, which Reg took as his cue to press on along the corridor.

      Half a dozen passengers were clustered outside the purser’s office, clutching their receipts, and Reg could see the two lads inside were being run ragged trying to track down each individual deposit box filled with money and jewels.

      ‘We’ll be back in a couple of hours. There’s really no need, ma’am,’ one of them was insisting.

      ‘I’m not going anywhere without my Fabergé egg,’ an elderly woman told him.

      Reg stopped for a moment, considering whether to volunteer his assistance. He wanted to keep busy but there was nothing for him to do. The pursers would never let a victualling steward into their hallowed office, so he decided to go down to the crew dorm and find John.

      As he passed the first-class restaurant, he noted the time: twelve-thirty-five. It was only fifty-five minutes since the collision, but it felt like hours. Time seemed to have slowed down – or could the clock have stopped?

      Descending the staff stairs to E Deck, Reg noted that the steps felt odd. He hadn’t felt any difference on the richly carpeted passenger stairs, but the hard staff ones seemed to be at a strange angle, so that when he put his foot down there was a curious sense of tilting forwards. The ship was listing, he realised. Noticeably listing. His heart began to beat just a little bit harder. That seemed to imply they were taking on water. Maybe that passenger had been right.

      There was no one in the dorm. No John, no Bill. Someone had come and given them instructions, and Reg felt a little panicky that he hadn’t been where he was supposed to be and now he’d been separated from his fellow workers. It seemed imperative that he found them as soon as possible. Before leaving the dorm, he went to his bunk and retrieved his passport and a St Christopher Florence had once given him, which he kept under his pillow. He checked his trouser pocket and made sure the five-pound note was still there. Then he reached under the bunk and pulled out a life preserver. There was only one left, which meant John must already have taken his. Clutching it to his chest, he hurried out of the door and back to the tilting staff stairs, which he bounded up two at a time, all five floors to the boat deck.

      When Reg emerged panting for breath on deck, lifeboats were being loaded. A nearby boat was hanging on its davits, suspended over the side and Fifth Officer Lowe was standing with one foot in the boat and one on the railing as he helped an elderly woman to step in. She was terrified and in the end Lowe had to hoist her across and deposit her in the boat, where she sat down heavily on a bench, looking dazed and scared. Others hung back, glued to their partners, unwilling to commit themselves to a wooden rowing boat hanging seventy-five feet above the surface of the ocean. And who could blame them? Reg thought.

      ‘Who’s next? Any more women or children here?’ Lowe called out. ‘We’re about to lower away.’

      As Reg watched, the crew tried to persuade a large American woman to get in but she was adamant she wasn’t leaving the ship. Suddenly a slender figure appeared clutching a velvet cloak around her. Her back was to Reg but as she stepped up to the rail, she turned and he saw from her profile that it was the beautiful girl from the boat deck, the one who had thrown her fur coat overboard. She had an elegance about her as she skipped, light as air, into the boat. It was as if this was a fun new game at a cocktail party, rather than a mid-Atlantic emergency.